


I Could Be In No Better Place

by Distractivate



Series: Sex Bloopers [17]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Asbestos Fest, Canon Compliant, Communication is Sexy, Consent is Sexy, Fluff, M/M, Sex bloopers, s04e03 Coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 11:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20759522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Distractivate/pseuds/Distractivate
Summary: “Well?” Patrick raises his eyebrows so they match the arc of his smile, with the high point in the middle. David is dismayed to realize that no amount of kissing that smirk off his face will deter Patrick from this line of questioning.An unexpected night of privacy after Asbestos Fest causes a change of plans and David has feelings about it.





	I Could Be In No Better Place

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished a long fic and was in a funk. Somehow that turned into dusting off an abandoned work in progress, and here we are.
> 
> Set after episode 403, “Asbestos Fest.” There is no way to make the timeline of this show fit any logical dimensionally-regulated passage of time and seasons. I did my best.
> 
> This was supposed to be more blooper-like and then these two went and made it all tender and fluffy. Sorry about that.

The entryway light flickers on in Ray’s foyer as Patrick goes to remove his suit jacket. David stops him, stepping into his space.

“I almost messed up The Number when I saw you were wearing this fucking blazer,” David says, scratching his hands up Patrick’s back under the offending garment.

“What? You don’t like my jacket?” Patrick asks the skin below David’s ear, his breath hot.

“For one thing it’s too big for you, and it hides your best features.”

“That’s actually _two _things,” Patrick interjects, leaning back against the door. He laughs at the eye roll he gets in return.

“But also,” David persists, “you wore it for our first date, so it has, like, good associations too. It’s _very _confusing.”

“Ah. So what’s my best feature?”

David just shakes his head. God this man. He’s beautiful and quick and right in all the ways that count (not that David will _ever _tell him that) and David can’t believe they’re doing this—whatever this is—together. But also it’s been a long fucking day, and if they’re going to end up horizontal at some point he’d rather just get to it this one time without first being caught in this heart-eyes trap that Patrick is so adept at setting.

“Well?” Patrick raises his eyebrows so they match the arc of his smile, with the high point in the middle. David is dismayed to realize that no amount of kissing that smirk off his face will deter Patrick from this line of questioning.

“I believe I told you what your best feature was at Stevie’s,” David says, bending to untie his own shoes. When he stands to toe them off, he realizes Patrick has removed his jacket.

“You said a number of complimentary things at Stevie's about several features of mine.” Patrick is matter-of-fact as he unbuttons the cuffs of his light blue button-up. “I don’t think you went so far as ranking them.”

He starts rolling up his sleeves, creasing the fabric deliberately with each successive turn as he exposes more skin. It’s this, the extra care he’s taking to adjust a shirt that is about to come off, that tells David the little shit knows exactly what David thinks his best feature is.

“So . . . ?” Patrick says, crossing his arms so the muscles go taut. He’s still smirking and fuck it, David is going to try to kiss that smirk until it’s open and sloppy anyway, because it is way too soon for Patrick to be able to read his mind. It works, mostly. Patrick unfurls his arms so he can haul David closer, teeth grating against David’s lips, torture by flexing forearms forgotten.

Patrick turns his head for a better angle and the sweep of David’s straightened hairstyle gets caught in the adjustment, tickling their eyelids. Patrick laughs against his lips and pulls away enough to help David brush the hair back. There’s too much product to get it back to its normal coif which makes Patrick laugh more, twisting it in his fingers until it’s sort of out of the way. David can guess what he looks like based on the way Patrick’s eyes go soft. It is the same look he had after the first time he dug his hands into David’s hair during an after-hours blowjob in the back room. Was that really a month ago already?

“When is Ray getting back from his date?” David asks. Ray apparently joined some new dating app and has dinner plans in Elmdale.

“He just sent me a text that said he won't be back until his nine o’clock appointment tomorrow.”

“Oh,” David says. His face is grinning but his head is spinning out.

“So I was thinking maybe I’d hop in the shower quick and then we could do the thing we talked about last time,” Patrick suggests, eyes dark as he backs towards the stairs.

“Oh,” David repeats, following him up to his room. “Yeah. Great.”

Patrick gathers a few of his personal items and heads to the bathroom. David hadn’t considered that they would actually have much time tonight. Other than the night at Stevie’s they have had to make the most of the few chances they get alone. Generally David assumes it is best not to get his hopes up.

Tonight is different though. He did have his hopes up. He’d been looking forward to watching _The Lake House _and eating cookies—or perhaps cookie dough if they got lazy—which was the plan before Ray announced he had a date. He still sort of likes the sound of that. God, maybe he's coming down with something.

It’s not that this isn’t a good development . . . He likes having sex with Patrick. A lot. Patrick fucks the way he flirts. It's a tease from start to finish, and it should be infuriating except he does it with such fondness that it tears down David’s defenses instead of building them up. It’s personal and specific and the more they do it, downright mind-blowing. And David feels like he wants all of it and more. All the time. Always. But.

But it’s been a day. He spent most of it letting his sister make him feel stupid about shoplifting youths, even if he is pretty sure that one in the plaid shirt actually meant the compliment about his shoes. Apparently Roland is now working at the motel, because Stevie hates David and wants to ruin his life. He will probably never get “The Loco-motion” out of his head, much less the visual of two dozen kids doing a sideways shimmy with their cardboard cutout trains during the children’s choir’s Kylie Minogue medley. His mother decided to have a breakdown in his bed, which triggered his Rose Family crisis management genes, which somehow resulted in performing The Number as well as an unscheduled laundering of sheets. And for another piece of evidence to support the Stevie-wants-to-ruin-his-life hypothesis, she texted Patrick who had until that point been planning to stay home and make the cookie dough instead of attending Asbestos Fest. Which likely means sex or not, cookies are out.

David is just drained is the problem. And residually embarrassed. And really quite possibly coming down with some kind of virus, because that is the only way to explain why he's not excited that Ray met someone acceptable enough to stay in Elmdale for the night.

But Patrick. _Patrick_. A whole night if they want it. Who knows when they’ll get this chance again. David sets his folded sweater on the chair and lays back on the bed with his eyes closed, trying to rally.

Patrick comes back in his boxers with the towel draped over his shoulders, and. Well. Who in their right mind would want to watch a movie when they could have this man melded skin to skin? He’s shorter than average height and broad and fit in a soft kind of way and every follicle of his body hair appears to need a lot of personal space. And yet David is becoming attached to every inch of him, from his too-short haircut to his heels that someday David would like to introduce to a pumice stone. And all because he snuck into David’s life with his grant applications and spreadsheets and support and fondness and that fucking mouth. And then he topped all of that with four little words, _you’re a good person_, which sounded . . . true, actually, even though he was also joking. David has worked hard over the last couple of years to earn words like that from someone like Patrick. So they are definitely not watching a Sandra Bullock vehicle tonight.

“You want to shower?” Patrick asks, catching a few stray beads of water on his chest with the towel before hanging it on the hook on his closet door.

“No. I did before the show.”

“Okay,” Patrick says. He sits down next to David on the bed and leans over, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and another one to his lips. “Hey I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Earlier?”

“Yeah. Those kids. It’s not your fault they were juvenile delinquents.”

“Okay,” David says. “Although technically you were in the back while they were distracting me with compliments and taking our inventory.”

“Hey, you okay?” Patrick asks.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

David doesn’t know what he wants to do right now, really, but he is positive he doesn’t want to talk about the events of the day. He sits up and wraps his ringed fingers behind Patrick’s neck, pulling him in.

Patrick comes willingly at first, tongue sliding and seeking across their frantic lips. David tries to help them along by peeling off his own shirt. They roll into a more comfortable position and it’s working, David thinks. He’s getting into it, mostly.

“You know I like the way you dress, right?” Patrick says, unbuttoning David’s pants and working them off. “I don’t . . . I don’t always know what the designer is or why it’s in fashion or— Anyway I like it. But I can try harder to learn about all of this if you want.”

“Do— Do you want to learn?” David asks, stuttering as Patrick’s fingers sink into his thighs and under the hem of his boxer-briefs.

“I want to make you feel the way you did when you thought those kids were complimenting you. Like you’re noticed.”

“I do feel like that,” David says, cupping a hand under Patrick’s chin before his mouth can go back to the incredible thing it was doing to his right nipple. “Hey, I feel more than noticed. By you.” _I feel seen by you _is closer, but he is definitely never ever saying that out loud.

It doesn’t matter. He already said way more than he should have, clearly, because he is getting those heart-eyes he has been trying, trying, _trying_ to avoid.

“You should,” Patrick says. He levers up to peck David more-or-less on the lips before returning his attentions to the freckles on David's shoulder.

David is turned on. He is, surely. He must be. But he is also feeling off. He’s having trouble remembering what to do besides lay there. And it’s Patrick with his David-specific sixth sense that he has no business having a month—seriously is it already a month?—into this, so of course he notices.

“Hey,” Patrick says, rolling onto his side and propping his head on his palm. He trails a hand through David’s chest hair, scratching a little. It’s soothing.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” David asks, even though he knows that it’s him. That David is what's wrong.

And probably this is when Patrick will break up with him. Because David can’t manage to get it the fuck together when a private moment presents itself.

“Do you not want to do this?” Patrick asks. He’s looking at him like he’s ready to be reasonable and understanding, sothis is going to hurt even worse than David thought.

“I do. I think I’m just . . ." He has to salvage this. "Maybe we should try something else. We could, um—”

“David.” Patrick says.

“Fine! I don’t want to, okay? I really like you. I like doing all of this with you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. I’ll— I'll go.” He just can't add a breakup to the humiliations of the day. They can finish nailing the coffin shut in the morning.

Patrick is still doing that _I see you _half-smile which is un-fucking-fair. He reaches for David’s hand, turning one of his silver rings as he cradles the side of David’s palm. His thumb tickles the soft skin between David's ring and middle finger.

“Stay,” Patrick says. “If you want to, you could stay. The sex was plan B anyway. We can still do plan A.” 

Patrick starts tracing the private skin between David's fingers, studying the ways their hands fit together. The gentle touch travels up his arms, into his shoulders, through his body until he feels all his tension dissolve. 

“I thought since we never get alone time you’d be disappointed if we didn’t use it.”

“Hey, we are using it. We will use it. I want all the kinds of alone time with you, David Rose, not just the sexy kinds.”

Patrick looks at him finally. And fine, maybe the heart-eyes aren’t the worst. But oh, they definitely are, because David is about to cuddle and maybe even spend the night here without one of them fucking the other into the mattress first.

“Thanks,” David says. He tries not to scrunch his face around his smile so Patrick can see a hint of the way this night has already blown David's mind more than the rest combined. But just a hint. “And to show you my gratitude, I’ll let you pick the movie.”

“Any movie?” Patrick asks, face alight. And maybe David is still a little upset about the shoplifting incident because he can’t go quite so far as to let Patrick pick _any _movie. He has made that mistake once before.

“I have it narrowed down to _The Lake House _or _Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood_.”

“Divine secrets of what? Never mind. Let's go with _The Lake House, _I guess.” Patrick squeezes his hand once before letting go to get up and pull on his pajama pants.

"Want to borrow some sweat pants or something?"

"Sure," David says.

Patrick pulls a pair out of a drawer and hands them to David on his way to the door.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“To get the cookie dough. I came home to make it after I closed the store and almost missed your big performance.”

“Ah. What a tragedy that would have been.”

“Indeed. I did miss the children’s choir, although Alexis said that was for the best.”

"Mmhmm, you dodged a bullet there."

David’s smile flashes wide and Patrick’s matches it. They’re fine, somehow. Patrick is really fine with this.

“Hey,” David says, standing up and walking over to him. “Rain check on the other thing?”

“No,” Patrick says, tucking David’s hair back so he can kiss him again, first on the forehead, then his nose, then his lips.

“No?”

“I've had too much sex where I wasn't into it. I know this is different, but— I don't want to make this into something we owe each other.”

“O-okay,” David says, and god he might have heart-eyes of his own if he’s not careful here. “But for the record, I don’t see this happening a lot.”

“Good to know,” Patrick says, cupping David’s face between his hands as he kisses him again, and yeah, they’re fine. They’re so much more than fine.

David slides his fingers up Patrick’s arms to his wrists, holding tight. Patrick grins.

“I'm relieved, honestly," Patrick adds, resting his forehead against David's. "For a minute there I was starting to doubt the effectiveness of my forearms.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Smarty_Pants for the late night read-through and to the Rosebudd for being the people who drag you out to a party when you just want to go to sleep and then you end up having the best time.


End file.
